Allegro con asino
So there I was, Ash Wednesday 8 p.m., hankering to give up something, pronto. Smoking? Yeah, fat focking chance. I was already into my second pack, Jack. Drinking? That's a good one. Like I said, I was aiming for leaving the Gate cracked, not sainthood. My weekly essay for this here newspaper? Ding-ding-ding-ding.
Which is to say, unless I fall off the writing wagon or am threatened with job dismissal for focking following my religious beliefs, you won't see me shining around this page 'til after Easter, April 8, praise the lord.
But before I go, speaking of religious beliefs, the thought of Rick Santorum as our next “anything” makes me want to throw up the heave of my guts big-time. As does my buddy Will Durst wonder, so do I: When it comes to the United States, is this guy running for president or ayatollah? If he were elected, I'll bet you a buck two-eighty there'd be a tad touch of voters' remorse when all single males under the age of 65 are castrated and all women wearing lipstick are stoned to death seconds after St. Rick's inauguration, ain'a?
And speaking of political office, with Dairyland's gubernatorial recall election right around the corner, I ought to announce right here, right now, that I'm all in as your candidate of choice, you betcha.
And my first order of biz as your new governor would be to reduce the law-abiding age from 21 to 16 for when a Badgerite could plant his or her booty atop a barstool, order a nice bourbon and tell the bartender to leave the bottle, and I'll tell you why.
Like I've said in the past, having a couple, three belts never fails to make me feel like a focking adult with something to say, and I can't imagine it also wouldn't turn the same trick with any snotnose katzenjammers currently 'neath the age of 21; and lord knows they sure as hell can use any passkey to adulthood we can give them, what with their delinquent ways and inability to afford higher education. The sooner we get them into the world of adults where we can keep a focking eye on them, the better. That's why.
As guv, I'd choose to put kids in bars instead of behind bars. Let them come down to the tavern to sit down with the regulars, the men and women who belly-up to the bar day in, day out; let these kids sit down, have a few and listen to the voice of smoky experience, the voice that says, “Kid, you're not so focking tough. For starters, you're mixing good booze with soda. I could drink you under a table anywhere, and still be able to adjust the color on my TV.”
And then these kids could take this alcoholic knowledge and stamina with them when they get carted overseas to fight with the terrorists. I ask you: These acts of terror around the world these days? The work of sober people, plain and simple. Uptight, cork-in-the-butt, sober people.
It's been said that alcohol loosens the inhibitions. No focking kidding, why else to drink it, ain'a? All I'm saying is that if these terror nuts drank, maybe it'd loosen their inhibition toward acting like regular normal sane people who, if nothing else, know that bombs, mortars and children don't mix.
I believe that enforced mandatory drinking 'cross the globe might be the real key to combating nut terror activity. The drinking man knows that no matter what abso-focking-lutely needs to be done can always wait 'til tomorrow, or the day after or even the day after that, what the fock, what's the hurry.
Should everybody drink as much as they can, all the time? Perhaps not. Surgeons and bus drivers spring to mind; also, the so-called “mean” drinker, often called a “domestic terrorist.” Although not much a threat on the worldwide terrorist scene since the asshole is usually too busy taking it out on loved ones to mess with the outside impersonal world, I can't believe we couldn't find room at Guantanamo for knobs like those.
Anyways, I forgot what my focking point was, so let me just say that our worldwide sober nuts need to relax, have a cocktail, so that the only inner-voice they hear is the one that tells them not to blow-up a bunch of kids, but instead whispers into a red-eyed ear, “Hey, it's OK. Have another. You still got tomorrow, and so should everybody else,” 'cause I'm Art Kumbalek and I told you so.